Berlin Night
by Baka no Healthy
Summary: "Anything can be used", that's what they were taught when they were young. They lived with the thought, and that one day they realised that it meant nothing. A Germancest bromance fic, written by me, translated into English by Enbi-to-Miruku. Please R&R to help us improve and bring you better fanfictions!


**Author:** BakanoHealthy

**Translator:** dA's Enbi-to-Miruku

**Genre:** Oneshot-Gen, Historical, Bromance, Family

**Rating:** K+ for mention of fights and blood.

**Characters:** Germany and Prussia. Brotherly love but no pairing.

**Word Count:** 3853

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and its characters belong to Himaruya Hidekaz. The original fanfiction (in Vietnamese) by me, BakanoHealthy. The translate (here) by Enbi-to-Miruku.

**BERLIN NIGHT**

**1.** Berlin, the night before

The first thing ever taught to him was: "You are a knight! What's wrong? Man up! Anything can be used!"

Not until he had grown up, could he understand that nobody interpreted "anything can be used" the way it should have been. In fact, its meaning changed from people to people. He had thought about it for quite a while, and at last decided to take it the more positive way.

"Anything could be in my reach."

Well, yeah, it didn't sound that positive. But he had taken "used" as "controlled" for so long that he lived with the idea. He always believed that he controlled everything.

He kept the thought, and he didn't keep it just for himself, but taught Germany the same thing.

He had liked the young boy the moment he found him. Where they met wasn't exactly an ideal place for people to encounter each other, but it sure was mind graving. That boy, at the time, was so distant. A twelve-year-old boy standing alone in the devastated ruins of a once very fierce battle, his torn black cloak flew aimlessly as those pale blue eyes were almost unconsciously directed towards the skyline. A ruby crimson liquid entirely covered the small sword still firm in his grip. The name of that boy was Germany.

He himself could never understand how young Germany managed to survive all alone in the middle of so large a battlefield, so the boy became quite interesting, to him. He kept that boy and raised him as his little brother, depending on the young blond to rebuild the once fallen empire.

"Anything can be used."

Germany was more than "can be used". Looking back, the twelve-year-old kid had already became a grown-up, serious twenty-year-old man. It was him with his own hands who raised and maintained the powerful nation baptised Deustchland. Not easy to figure out how Germany understood "can be used", but evidently his standards brought impressive results.

He no longer just thought of Germany as "interesting". He was proud of that man. The man who was his little brother, the man who was brought up by him, the man whose success was partly thanks to him. Germany was no doubt an awesome little brother.

For Germany's birthday, he gave him a black Iron Cross. In return, the blond man handed him back the sword that rightfully belonged to him. Sitting face to face to his no-longer-little little brother, he seized the sword handle as something began to cloud his ruby irises, blurring his vision. How long had it been, hm? The sword, having not been used for so long, had gone distantly heavy. He was a knight, wasn't he, swordsmanship should have been part of his nature...

Berlin that night had witnessed the great Königreich Preußen letting go of the kingdom he had always been protecting up until then.

- o -

He was a brave nation. That braveness had been flowing in his veins since... since when? Since he could remember? Since the day he started existing?

The oldest memory he could keep was a battlefield. Prussia was there (why Prussia, anyway?) so he guessed that it was the aftermath of the great war declared by the Holy Roman Empire. It seemed that after the battle ended, only Prussia - and him - survived. And how would he survive, if it wasn't thanks to Prussia?

That meant he owed the white haired man.

For some reason, after that, Prussia became his older brother. That man willingly thrashed his sword for his younger brother, and now withdrew it also for him. That strange man who seemed to have taken a certain interest in teaching his younger brother... "Anything can be used," declared Prussia. "That means no matter how bad things are, awesome people like you and The Awesome Me will always be awesome-ly fine, got it?"

The blond German was clever enough to know well that the two things his older brother said had nothing to do with each other. So it took him more than a while to figure out which one to follow.

Until the day he turned twenty.

His small birthday party was held in Berlin. Through the large window in Prussia's kitchen, his eyes sunk into the panorama of a bright city. The clear prussian blue of the night sky harbored the whole of that city, enliving the factory lights thus giving them the appearance of baby suns. Inhabitants hurried down the streets, lightly snuggling in warm long coats and woolen bonnets. The many sounds of the city - raising voices, grumbling machines, running horses - entwined into a jolly harmony.

"Berlin's beautiful, huh?" Prussia asked curtly. Normally he would be all wordy and lengthy (especially when talking about his 'awesome' self) but when it came to things he truly loved, he became oddly concise.

The younger German replied with a brief nod before turning back to his basket of potatoes.

"Always in rush, always so serious," continued Prussia. "To the point of being tiring."

"But much regretted once lost."

"Who wrote that anyway?"

"No idea."

Prussia averted his gaze towards the window, and sighed. Preparations were carried on in silence.

After the party, with his own hands Prussia put the Iron Cross on his brother's neck. The younger of the two returned the sword to his older brother. Prussia gripped it tightly, lifting it up and down with an amused expression; yet, his ruby eyes still seemed haunted with incertainty.

"Anything can be used."

For the very first time, Germany doubted his decision.

- o -

**2.** Berlin, tonight

His sword swaggered up and down. Each thrash meant a taken human life.

Tonight's battle was already the last. He had to stand still, even dead.

With a brusque movement he thrusted the sword through the chest of a soldier. Crimson gushed out at the jerk of the sharp blade, ruby reflections glinting under faint night lights. He inhaled deeply; the corners of his mouth pulled up, molding his visage into a frigid counternance.

Rough clangs and clanks of clashing weapons resounded everywhere. Cries - of either pain or anger - clattered in collision betwixt the battlefield. Amors, blades or guns. People, some struggling, some falling.

He liked that place. Where only elite people like him and Germany could hold on. Where the atmosphere was filled with an intimidating feeling that made the weak trembled. Where anything can be used.

It had been a pretty long time since he was in such an awesome vibe. Ever since the end of great war commenced by the Holy Roman Empire, which was also when he had found Germany, he hadn't laid hands on the sword, and that was a considerable amount of time. Taking it in his grip again after so long a break, he had been afraid - could it be that he had forgotten the savor of war? - but things eventually fell back in place. There were still some kind of unease, but other than that he was almost fully restored like the old days.

And how great was it when he realised that as soon as he stepped to the front line, the unease was completely gone.

In the recent years, Königreich Preußen declared more wars than ever. Power holders were much pleased: had their country ever been so vast? Him, he did not care. He wanted to leave behind the normal days' usual heaviness of the sword in his hands. If that feeling was still lingering, even at its slightest, he would keep madly striking his swords. Because it was the feeling he feared most - the feeling of things no longer under his control.

The fatally sharp weapon chopped off the arm of an enemy in front of him. A sudden bang... of a gun... somewhere. He hated guns. Their usage wasn't as simple as swords'. They weren't capable of exposing true power.

He just continued thrashing his sword. The pair of ruby eyes gleamed in darkness.

"We're losing, sir," a young soldier under his power spoke up in fear. Almost immediately he sliced the glistening blade accross the boy's neck. The head flung itself away, its sight lost amidst the chaos. He threw a glance of disdain at the dead headless body.

"We don't have cowards."

True. The Prussian army had been fighting against a force three times stronger than them since morning. Probably until the next morning. Probably forever. That wouldn't be a problem for he knew he was the winner.

He jerked his blade up to shield himself from a bullet, then gashed the ribs of someone blocking his view. Tonight he would win. Swearing upon his and Germany's Iron Cross.

More blood gushed out into the depth of the dead night, shining in a cruel red.

- o -

Turns out his 'eternity' only lasted not much longer than two days.

Everyone decided for him to stay put in the cramped room until they lured "the others". How thoughtful, that England guy even left open a tiny window whose position had been precisely calculated. And thanks to that, whatever happened, he knew all.

Königreich Preußen finally surredered. He could hear people talking. "When can we take them back?" "It'll be a while until then. They said someone had been hiding him." He felt a burning fury. Would the door collapse if he crashed into it?

Two days later, Prussia was taken in custody. It was the saddest of reunions.

"Hello, bruder."

He nodded. Prussia ruffled his snowy white hair with his hand; his arm was wounded by a bullet.

"Prussia, your arm..."

"Oh, this?" Prussia glanced at the wound. "Those people were being so kind. Seems like I hadn't met my end yet, huh."

"You sure?"

"Everything is all under control."

The blond German sank to the feet of the wall. No, everything had gone to far out of his control. The Nazi Party had broken down, and had even had several last ridicules before shattering completely. Italy had - according to the opposing forces' certain assertment - succumbed and left him on his own. Prussia, he was sitting with him in this damn cell. Japan was still fighting persistently (or obstinately?), but there had been rumors about America's newest weapon...

At the end, the ones who assumed all was well turned out to be the most pathetic.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. It's a pity that we had lost so early."

"Yeah. But we're in Berlin, right?"

"So?"

"The Awesome Me thinks that the city is still in good condition. You've protected it well."

"But I wasn't able to protect my allies."

He had believed that if he tried hard enough then no matter what, everything would go fluidly to his will - and he did try hard, just as he thought he should. He had been very certain about his decisions. He had found friends who had the same ideals as him. He had seen victory slowly inching into his hands.

Tiny fragments of a crumbled, shattered hope glinted under the feeble illumination of the cell room.

- o -

**3.** Berlin, tomorrow night

What a surprise, he was still alive. Twice or thrice death prowled near, yet he was still standing here, breathing fresh air.

"Anything can be used," they used to tell him that. Curse that doltish motto. For the time being, he was under Russia's supervision, his country had been chomped into a tiny morsel, and all he did everyday was longing news of his little brother from the other side of a brick wall. Not even an ounce of power and control left.

His Berlin had never been so dull. Factories, and people. Rushed steps. Day then night, night then day, the city carried on with works. People directed themselves towards a far-off future some where above their heads.

If only he had a gun and his awesome brother here with him.

If only. Just if.

He sat down at the feet of the wall. The iciness of this cruel border seemed to rip off his coat to touch his wounded back. It irritated him and made him wanted to find a sword. To crush this stupid feeling, and crush the Wall too. To take back what was his. But good grief, he still loved this life a lot.

Citizens walked right past their own nation, not even giving a thought.

"Sitting like this, you might catch a cold."

He looked up. A pair of purple eyes staring at him. He moved to the side, leaving space for Russia to sit down.

"Plenty of time on hand, huh?"

"I just wanted to visit your place. It's already winter."

"Everything fine?"

"It's happy at my place. Many friends came. May be you should come, too."

"No thanks, I'm good staying here."

"You like this city?" Russia chuckled softly.

"Yeah. I like Berlin."

"Summer in Berlin is really pretty."

"Summer isn't the only thing I like in Berlin."

"What else, then?"

He remained silent.

"I like what I don't have. I've lost Berlin, so I like it."

"You will have Berlin back for sure. I will give you the Berlin you want."

"You are a good guy, Russia."

- o -

When he turned around, the Wall had been there for almost a decade.

Good intentions? He didn't know. He had lost, so how to treat him was for the winner to decide. By that he meant America. He really wanted to help or he just liked construction games, who knew. He just knew that he was alive and he was still trying hard.

He took the bricks and put them in place. Deustchland was healing itself. People were eventually able to smile in pride. Everybody was eventually leaving the past behind.

Control was slowly coming back into his hands.

But - a painful opposition to the small bit of contentment he just gained - the Wall still was there, in front of him. Bitterly cold. Deeply brutal.

The wall of Berlin was like his final limit, something he could never reach. It kept piled up in him the feeling of uselessness and despair that he once had during the time he was in the cell with Prussia. Many times he had come, just to sit down under the wall and let the frostbite of old bricks attack him. He couldn't catch colds unless there were economic problems. He couldn't do anything to the wall either - it was an untouchable border. So he just sat there, to see if that alone could ever bring the wall down.

"How's the new building?"

"Good. Everything is fine."

"What a strong wall, don't you think?" The dark blond smiled half humoring, half pitying. The German just brought his eyes uo to meet the grey sky, not replying.

America stepped besides him, his military boots buried in snow. The guy placed a hand on the souless brick wall.

"This is so not cool."

"I hate it."

"The feeling of not having control over things, huh? War brings that the most."

"You're the one to talk. Everything is going well for you."

"Not really. See, I'm also blocked by this wall."

"Oh." His eyes glided along the wall. Recently people had been talking about sonething called the "bipolar world". On either sides of this wall existed an ideology way too different from the other. They fight for every inch of ground.

"Forget it. Anything can be used anyway." America beamed at him. "By the way, I sent you the funds you told me last time."

"Yes... Are you sure it's all good?"

"Whatever I chose had already been chosen. There's no way to change that. But I have to believe that everything is good, or else... how can I live?"

"...Thank you."

**4.** And Berlin forever after

Ignoring the hurried trading. Ignoring the noisy construction. Berlin that afternoon was surprisingly calm.

"Happy birthday to you~"

"The Awesome Me made this cake - well actually me and West." claimed Prussia excitedly. "Eat and fawn upon my awesomeness!"

"Bruder." The younger German sighed.

"I'll part the cake, Germany "

"Italy, dear, leave it to big sister."

"Oi, oi, aristocrats don't eat peasants' cakes, do they? Sir Edelstein, please piss off."

"Bruder!"

"Ignore him Germany."

His house might have been the noisiest place in town.

Near midnight, silence returned. He and Prussia had finished doing the dishes; Prussia was standing on the balcony (to enjoy some fresh air, or so he said).

Berlin, at night, was lit with bright street lamps. Only few people was still out on the weaved streets. The man-made illuminations pushed the night sky further away from the city. He looked up; that purple-ish blue sure was distant.

"Berlin's beautiful, huh?"

"Yes. It's almost midnight Prussia, go to sleep."

"But too different."

Prussia turned, face away; his snowy white hair blown to the side by the cool wind. He looked as if he had nothing to do with that city out there.

"This is Berlin."

"My Berlin is nothing like this."

"You're talking nonsense. Go to sleep."

"It's too quiet, I can't sleep."

The blond sighed. Prussia's arms crossed on the balcony, his head sunk, his shoulders slightly shaking.

"Anything can be used, afterall."

His broken laugh raised, weakly.

"You are right."

- o -

The world changed. To an ancient nation like him, it was as though everything turned upside down.

First he found Germany. Then he withdrew his sword. After that he took his sword again and took part in war. Then he lost and was taken by the East. And then the Wall was taken down, so he finally reunited with his little brother. Then the nations started to catch cold at the same time, followed by a series of events that would take him forever to remember. And then...

Uhm, and then he found himself gazing at Berlin from the balcony of his little brother's house. It wasn't until then did he realize how much brighter the city had become. Life was slowed down while the sky was pushed further up - it all elongated Berlin nights into indefinition.

Berlin was beautiful. It had always been beautiful, but unfamiliar beauty tend to make people afraid.

"Berlin's beautiful, huh?"

"Yes. It's almost midnight Prussia, go to sleep."

He was obviously being all like an old man who lived for too long complaining about things that had been the past for like a million years. But he knew once his eyes had pointed that out to him, he wouldn't be able to sleep all night.

"But too different."

Germany eyed him quizzically. His hair, after taking a shower, was falling down naturally over his front, making his stare even more questioning.

"This is Berlin."

The white haired man turned his gaze to the west of the city. Where the sun would go down every day. A gush of wind blew in, refreshing. His Iron Cross was slightly swinging on the silver chains. As if absorbing energy from the cool air at night, it became heavier, colder, pulling on his neck.

"My Berlin is nothing like this."

"You're talking nonsense. Go to sleep."

The black cross was seemingly weighing the burden of a whole country; he sunk his head into his own crossed arms. How grievous. This Berlin didn't have factories brightly lit no matter day or night, nor people who walked in hurry on every street til late. This Berlin only had the blinding man-made illuminations. Even blindfolded, he would still see them.

The night sky was too high, so high that it resembled the untouchable Wall back in those days. The sky was so clear, almost transparent, just like that night of battle. He felt like holding his sword again just by looking at it, to strike and steal it back. "It's too quiet, I can't sleep."

"Anything can be used, afterall."

He smiled into rolling tears. "You are right."

It might be true that he had chosen wrongly right from the start.

- o -

_He immerses in the roaring battle. His sword holding hand feels as heavy as lead. Damn, has he forgotten how to use it? If he can't use it, he'll die for sure._

_What's with "anything can be used", damn. Damn. Damn._

_He struggles to stand still with the deadly weight pulling on his arm. Funny how it used to be part of him. Now he has to use all his strength to thrust it through the bodies of enemies blocking his way. And somehow things are getting worse._

_A bullet breaks in half the sword of a soldier in front of him. The very next moment, a sharp, thin blade swiftly gashes down the guy's shoulders, almost slicing him in half._

_"Stay where you are, bruder."_

_That deep German accented voice resounds clearly. In bewilderment, the white haired man looks up to see a fence of people shielding him from the rest of the battle. Germany. Japan. Italy. Hungary. Austria. America. Russia. England. France. China._

_"Your shoulder has been wounded by a bullet, so please don't make more movements." Japan holds up his katana._

_"Haha, everything's fine. Just let me-"_

_"Nothing is fine. Nothing. You need to stop convincing yourself that you control everything."_

_"You-"_

_"Bruder, you just can't control everything. So don't push yourself too much when things are out of your control. That's how things are."_

- o -

"It's already morning; are you going to stay here till night?"

Prussia raises his head. His red eyes cannot get any redder, still there are evident tear marks left on his cheeks. "Hey West."

"You really stayed awake the whole night?"

"I did have a small nap. Had an interesting little dream too. Oh, it's sunrise."

The sun is raising from the east of the city. Brilliant and grand. The sky, however, is yet to be lit. Night shadows seem to linger, retreating step by step from the immense Berlin.

He looks at the Prussian. The man stands there in utmost peace, eyes gazing at the raising fireball. Early rays of sunshine shimmer on snowy locks of hair.

Here and there appear the first citizens of the morning - those early birds. They lock their doors and hurry on their way down the streets.

"An awesome dawn," he exhales, a smile - finally - playing accross his face.

The younger German nodded. "An awesome dawn."

**Berlin, 201-**

**End**


End file.
